


Methos Chronicles 7

by Helis_von_Askir



Series: Methos Chronicles [7]
Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23461543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helis_von_Askir/pseuds/Helis_von_Askir
Summary: Sometimes legends are just legends.
Series: Methos Chronicles [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350058
Kudos: 7





	Methos Chronicles 7

It was a dreary day in Paris. As great as Paris was in spring, in early winter it just sucked. Methos cursed the weather as he huddled even more in his long coat on his way back home from the bakery. Maybe it was time to head back to Rome. He had already been staying longer than he had originally planned. But he didn’t like the thought of Murron alone in Paris, especially not with an unattached MacLeod hanging around. The younger Immortal had been eying Murron like a fresh piece of meat recently. The Highlander should be thanking his God that Amanda had not caught him staring like that or he would have lost his manhood a couple of times.

He was waiting at a crossing for the light to change when he felt the Buzz. Fucking perfect, he thought and inconspicuously looked around. Definitely time to head back south. Paris was Grand Central Station for Immortals and most of them were looking for MacLeod and Methos then got caught up in the mess every time.

Not this time though. The man walking towards him was familiar and after a moment Methos could finally place him. Joffre de Bézière. A fanatic little Templar who couldn’t get over the fact that the Pope and the king of France had screwed his order over. Methos had met him only once before, somewhere in the early 1500s. De Bézière had been hell-bent on restoring the Templars to their old glory and for that he was searching for their lost treasure. Stupid, but then young Immortals tended to be like that.

Methos has been a Templar a couple of times himself, not that he had told de Bézière that, and had not been too sorry to see them go. They really had had it coming. Too fanatic and too sure of their power, for Methos’ tastes, at least certain members of the order.

And Joffre didn’t seem to have lost any of that fanaticism in the seven hundred years of his life if the look in his eyes was anything to go by. So much for a quiet morning with Murron.

“Nicolas, I see you managed to keep your head after our last meeting.” Joffre greeted him with a superior smile.

Methos shrugged. “I don’t see why not. You were the one wanted for murder and treason.”

Joffre drew himself to his full height. “It was an act of justice.”

“Right, killing children always is.” Methos shook his head. “Aren’t you getting bored with this ridiculous quest of yours?”

“My quest is holy, it is the will of God. Why else would he have made me the way I am?” Joffre wanted to know. His teacher had done a bad job of breaking him out of his mortal mindset, but Methos didn’t blame him, some battles were lost before they even started.

“You really should be honest about your motives, Joffre, at least to yourself. And I repeat my statement, there is no Holy Grail, there never was one, nor will there ever be one.” Methos old him slightly annoyed.

Joffre gave him a disgusted look. “Believe what you will, Nicolas, I know the truth.”

Methos shrugged again. “Whatever.” He muttered and turned to leave. Some people you just couldn’t help.

“You mark my words, Nicolas. I will find it! And I will bring the order back.” Joffre shouted after him not caring who else heard him.

Thankfully Murron had had to leave when he got home. An emergency meeting because something with the next exhibition was not working out. That left Methos the time to hack into the Watcher database and take a good look at Joffre’s chronicles. And my, had he been busy.

He had been collecting everything there was about the Holy Grail and the Templar trying to find clues as to where the Grail had been hidden. Not that he would ever find it, as Methos had told him, there was no such thing. Nor had he been very subtle about it. It was half a miracle that he hadn’t told everyone about his immortality.

Like so many others, Joffre made the mistake of assuming that the Grail was the treasure of the Templar. Which was not the case. The treasure did in fact exist. Methos knew about it because DeMoley had handed it to him with strict instructions not to hand it over to anyone except him or someone with his authority. Poor fool had thought that they could weather out whatever the king of France had planned for them.

And it was a quite substantial treasure. Methos had needed seven ships to get it out of France. The crews had been handpicked by him to make sure they were completely loyal and could keep their mouths shut. It had been close but they had gotten away only hours before the orders of arrest were carried out.

Off the coast of France, 1307 AD

“I do not like this, Sir. Hiding like this, pretending to be someone we are not.” Francis, Methos’ second in command, said while he watched the wind fill the sails of the ships. The new sails with nothing on them to identify them as belonging to the Templar Knights.

“I’m not overly fond of the deception either, but our duty is to obey orders and take the treasure to safety, by any means necessary.” Methos reminded him.

“Yes, I know, but, Norway? Why this God-forsaken place? The people there are still half-pagan.” Francis said but in a voice low enough to not be overheard by the rest of the crew. Questioning a superior officer could land you in a lot of trouble.

“Indeed and would you ever think to look for us there?” Methos wanted to know. Francis was a good knight, but not overly imaginative.

The mortal was forced to concede the point. Methos watched him go below-decks again. This was not the first time he had heard such comments. These men were used to fighting their enemies on the open field of battle but that was the last thing the king wanted. He only wanted the money the Templars had acquired in the last couple of centuries, their power, and it was Methos’s job to make sure he never got it. The lands yes, but not the gold and jewels, and some other things.

For the sake of these mortals he hoped that the order would survive the coming storm, but he knew men like Philip IV. He would not stop until he had what he wanted and destroy everything in his way.

Methos feared that his men would never be able to return home again.

They reached the coast of Norway uncontested. In Oslo they got new information on the affairs in France. The news was several weeks old but more than they had had before. And it did not sound good.

Nearly every Templar in France had been arrested, and those who had not were on the run, being hunted down one by one. So far the knights in the rest of Europe had not been arrested or even harassed but that would not stay that way for too long. If they were lucky they might be allowed to join one of the other orders of knights that were so prevalent in Europe right now.

Everyone expected the Pope to drop the protection for the order any day now, switching orders was the only one any of them would survive.

“What are we to do now? Sir?” Francis asked shocked.

Methos sighed. “Follow our orders. What else can we do?”

“They arrested the grandmaster.” Francis hissed.

“Yes, I know.” Methos replied calmly. “What would you have me do? Lead a charge on Paris? Rome? We only have two hundred men.”

Francis looked like he wanted to punch something or someone. Methos didn’t blame him. His family had sent him to the priory when he was eight years old. The order was all he knew.

Taking a deep breath, Francis opened his fists. “You’re right. You’re right, Sir. I do not like it, but you are right. We must protect the treasure, as the Grandmaster commanded. Where do we head from here, Sir?”

That was the question, was it no? Norway was a big but lightly populated part of the world. Which made it ideal for hiding but how to get to that hiding place?

Roads, good roads, were few and far between. They would have to go by ship. It was the only reasonable way. There were a thousand fjords along the coast. The difficulty was in finding the right one.

But Methos thought had a way of finding out. It was an old habit of his to keep appraised of Immortals near him by means of the Watchers. And before he left France had had been able to read up on who was currently in Norway. Currently meaning as of a month or two ago.

There was for one Bjorn, son of Rollo, an uncivilized brute who thought books were only good for burning, even after nearly two hundred years, and then there was Lagertha, barely into her first century but with much promise if his friend Yun Xi Lang could be believed.

Now all he had to do was gain her trust sufficiently enough to help him. And quickly, his men were getting restless already.

Lagertha was running a large farm for her husband while he was away on one business or other, if he was even still alive. He hadn’t been seen around for a while and letters were forged easily enough.

Methos appreciated the well run farm as he made his way to the main building. The presence washed over him when he got even near. He stopped and dismounted, his hand resting on his sword but not drawing it, yet. “I am looking for Lagertha.”

“Why?” a female voice asked surprisingly from behind some trees and a tall blond woman in man’s clothes stepped forward, sword in hand.

“My name is Nicolas and I’m not here for your head. I was hoping to get your help in a matter of quite some importance for me.” Methos told her.

Lagertha scoffed. “That fancy way of speaking ever work?”

Methos shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Why do you want my help?” Lagertha wanted to know. “There must be other Immortals around you can ask.”

“Yun Xi Lang said that no one knows these shores better than you. My men and I need a place to lay low for a while.” Methos explained.

“How do you know Yun Xi Lang?” Lagertha asked.

“We ran into each other a few times in the past.” Methos replied.

“And he told you about me?” Lagertha sounded skeptical.

Methos shrugged again. “You’re one of his best students, if a bit stubborn.”

Lagertha smiled. “That sounds like him.” She lowered her sword. “Very well, there’s an old grove over the hill there.” She pointed to the north of them. “It’s Holy Ground. We can talk there.”

Methos bowed to her. “Lead the way.”

France, Paris, 1308 AD

He could hear his brothers scream as they were put to the question. Questioning, how harmless that sounded. Joffre looked down on his broken fingers. They were all being tortured and it did not stop until they confessed what they had not done.

How could the Pope have betrayed them like this? Had they not always served the Almighty? Helped the Holy Father whenever he had demanded it?

Joffre laid his head back against the cold wall of his cell. He had been in here for a year now and had not given in, like so many of his brothers had. At first he had thought them weak, traitors to the order. But soon he would break too, he knew it. His strength was leaving him. And he could not even take his own life, not with his broken hands, to avoid that shame. Suicide was a grave sin, but in his mind not nearly as grave as betraying his order.

There was only one thing left for him to do. He had to make _them_ kill him. His jailors enjoyed hurting him, he just had to put them that one step further.

His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the cell door. Two big men came in and grabbed Joffre to drag him out.

“Walk, you piece of filth.” One of them snarled and threw him to the ground. Joffre forced himself to get up, he would not grovel before them. And then he charged the one who had spoken. It was the only thing left for him.

The guards laughed and use the excuse to beat him up gladly. At first it was only half-heartedly but then Joffre got a hit in himself and they started in earnest. One heavy blow against his head sent him to the ground. A boot connected with his ribs and he felt them break and then it got hard to breath before everything went black.

Present Day

Joffre slowly walked through the Louvre but his thoughts were not on the paintings. He was contemplating what Nicolas was doing in Paris. It was possible that he did live here and had nothing to do with Joffre’s quest. But he did not believe that, not Nicolas. The timing was too much of a coincidence. Now that he was so close to finding the Holy Grail. Joffre was sure that that had to be the reason why Nicolas was here. But he wouldn’t allow anyone to stop him. And most definitely not Nicolas Albini!

“You seem concerned” Murron observed later that evening. “Did something happen?”

“I just ran into an old acquaintance of mine.” Methos told her.

“Again? He wants your head too?” Murron wanted to know. That was the one thing she absolutely hated about immortality, that stupid Game. The name alone was ridiculous cutting people’s heads off and calling it a Game.

“Oh no, he wants to find the Holy Grail and bring the Templar Knights back to their former glory.” Methos dead-panned.

“What?” Murron asked after a stunned moment.

“Yeah, too bad the Grail doesn’t exist.” Methos shrugged.

“You sound awfully sure of that.” Murron said. “Don’t tell me you were a Templar once.”

“Twice, actually.” Methos replied.

“Is there anything you haven’t done?” Murron wanted to know exasperated.

Methos shrugged “Not much, I’m sure I can think of something if I try.”

Murron slapped his shoulder. “You’re impossible. When were you with the Templar Knights?”

“Oh, let’s see. Early 13th century and then late 13th century. Strange men but lots of influence, well, before the end.”

“And a safe place to hide out.” Murron added. “You guys had each other’s back, stayed on lots of Holy Ground.”

“That too, the only thing I really hated was that I had to grow a long beard, that was so annoying and always got in the way.” Methos recalled with a disgusted face.

“Oh, so the whole celibacy thing wasn’t a problem for you? Just the beard?” Murron wanted to know with a big grin on her face.

Methos scoffed. “Oh please, like anyone obeyed that stupid rule.”

Lying the flail on the table before him, Joffre endured the pain of the lashes until they healed and only the drying blood remained on his back.

People nowadays thought of this as barbaric, but it too away his sinful thoughts, it helped him focus on his task. All these women, they temped him, always had, but so far he had resisted them all, and he would continue to do so. Others were weak, but he was strong. He would fulfill his pledge because of this strength. No matter the coast.

The Museé Nationale had changed much since he had been here the last time. Back then he had not known what he was really looking for, now he had learned so much that he would not leave empty-handed. Now he just needed access to the archives.

“May I help you, Monsieur?” an elderly man asked politely. He as one of the volunteers that helped tourists finding their way and giving tours

Joffre didn’t like being mistaken for a tourist but he had more important things on his mind. “I’m looking for the document archives.”

The man smiled at him. “You need a special permission for that, Monsieur.”

Joffre forced a smile, reminding himself that the man was only doing his job and killing him would be counterproductive to his goals. “Yes, of course, I have it right here.” He showed him the permission he had a forger make for him for quite a sum of money.

“Ah yes, very good.” The old man nodded. “You just have to sign in and then I’ll take you right there.”

“Thank you.” Joffre would have preferred to go alone but he didn’t want to make a scene. Patience. He was so close, he would not ruin it because he was impatient.

The archives were housed in a series of rooms, sorted chronically and geographically. He went to the section for the Middle East. The Grail had come from there and it had taken him a good long while to realize that the Grandmaster must have sent it back there when the order came under threat. Nothing else made sense.

Joffre picked the workstation farthest to the back where he could keep an eye on the rest of the room. Not that he was overly worried, the only other occupant was a young woman engrossed in her own work. She had not even looked up when he had entered.

He would have liked for her to get up and leave but he didn’t. Joffre had no other choice but to start his own search and keep an eye on her to make certain she didn’t try to spy on him. That she was very good looking had nothing to do with him keeping looking at her. Absolutely not!

It did not take long for Joffre to find the documents he had come looking for, but it was taking time working through them. This would take a lot longer than he had anticipated.

“Excuse me?” The young woman asked, suddenly standing next to his desk.

“Yes?” Joffre quickly closed the book he had been reading to prevent her from seeing what it contained.

“The museum is closing, we need to leave.” She told him.

“Oh, already?” Joffre looked at the clock in one corner. She was right, it was closing time. And now he felt dumb. He should have kept an eye on the time, not on her. That was why he avoided talking to women. He never knew what to say, how to behave. Better to stay away from them.

“Yes, time does fly, doesn’t it?” she smiled at him and left the room.

With a sigh Joffre put the books together and for a moment considered simply stealing them, but he wouldn’t be able to smuggle them out and who knew if he would need other documents later on? He diced to hide them here and continue his work tomorrow.

When Murron entered the house a delicious smell greeted her. Methos was cooking. She loved it when he was cooking, he was a true master. The only downside was that she had to work out like mad later one to keep her figure.

“Oh, that smells good,” She said. “What’s the occasion?”

Methos kissed her quickly before turning back to the oven. “No occasion, I just felt like it. How was your day?”

“Boring,” she sighed. “Working through a huge pile of old tests is not exactly something that gives you an adrenaline shock.”

“Oh, poor baby.” Methos teased. “I can come along tomorrow and annoy you all day long. Would you like that?”

Murron laughed and hugged him from behind. “I’d love to but today some guy came in and he looks like he’s staying a while. We wouldn’t want to scare him, would we?”

“Hmm, probably not.” Methos agreed. “But won’t you two get into each other’s way?”

“I doubt it. I’m researching ancient times and he’s in early 14th century, going by what I saw. He as very secretive.” Murron explained.

“Really? How mysterious.” Methos said nonchalantly. He was jumping to conclusions here. There was no way to assume that this guy was Joffre searching the archives of the Museé Nationale. It was possible, sure, but why waste time on dusty old documents that held nothing about the Grail? No reason to worry Murron with this.

It was getting frustrating. For nearly three weeks Joffre had been sorting and searching through hundreds of documents and though at first it had looked promising he had run into one dead-end after the other.

At this pace it would take another century before he got anywhere. He should be patients, he knew that, but after all this time it was getting hard to do so. Especially since he had believed to finally get close to finding the Grail.

Nicolas could say as he liked, there was a Grail and Joffre would find it and realize all this dreams. He grabbed another folder full of old letters and single pages. At first it was more of the same, nothing interesting to him, but then he came across a short letter from the Grandmaster to someone in Jerusalem. Joffre cold barely contain his excitement.

_My old friend,_

_I thank you for your generous offer. But after long consideration I have come to the conclusion that Jerusalem would be too obvious a place to hide our Order’s treasure. Therefore I have decided to send it somewhere neither King Philip nor the Holy Father would ever thing to look for it._

_Nicolas has already made several interesting suggestions, though I still hope that it will not be necessary and the king will return to his senses._

_Jacques DeMolay_

_Grandmaster of the Order of the Poor Knights of Christ and the Temple of Salomon_

He wanted to scream in frustration. His search, futile! His entire work for nothing! Jerusalem had been his last hope. Where else could he look now?

Not being able to sit still anymore, Joffre sprang up and stormed out of the archives. He needed fresh air, he needed to think.

Pacing along the Seine, Joffre went over the contents of the letter again and again. This Nicolas knew where the Grail was, as he had hidden it himself. But who was he? Some mortal Templar long dead…Or not?

Could Nicolas be _Nicolas_? Immortals often used names over and over again, in various forms. And why not? It was just a name. But he had never said that he had been a Templar too. Why? To keep the Grail for himself, of course! It was so typical of him.

That lying bastard! He had known where the Grail had been all along and kept it to himself but Joffre would make him talk. He had sacrificed too much to leave empty-handed.

Of course finding Nicolas proved difficult. It wasn’t like he had his address in the phone book, or smartphone app, as it was these days.

Joffre’s only lead was the crossing where h had run into him before. But there was also a metro station there, so he could have gone anywhere theoretically. But he had been carrying a bag from a bakery. And you didn’t buy your bread across town. He had to live close by.

Joffre strolled around the neighborhood for a while and then he saw her. No! It couldn’t be! But then why not? Nicolas had always been a sneaky bastard. Putting one of his whores into the archive to keep an eye on him. He should have known. Why else would an attractive woman like her work in a museum?

Carefully not to be seen Joffre followed her. She would lead him to Nicolas and the other Immortal would tell him where to finally find the Grail.

Methos was pacing up and down the living room waiting for Murron to return. He had checked the Watcher databank again. Joffre was spending his days in the Museé Nationale and he wanted Murron to stay away from him. And that would take some explaining and he was not looking forward to it. But not explaining it to her would only make things worse, he knew that from experience.

Through the window he finally saw her coming down the street. But to his dismay he saw that Joffre was only a few meters her came Joffre. Following her right to the front door.

Well, Joffre was crazy, not stupid.

Grabbing his coat and sword he stepped outside just as Murron fished her keys out of her bag.

“Hey,” She greeted him and then saw his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Remember the Holy Grail guy I told you about?” he asked her.

“Yes,” Murron replied hesitantly. “Why?”

“Guess he does want my head after all. Please go inside and call Joe. I’ll explain everything when I get back.” Methos told her.

Murron nodded after a moment and kissed him quickly. “Be careful.”

“Always,” Methos smiled at her and then stepped out on the sidewalk.

“Tell me where the Grail is and I might let you live.” Joffre demanded when he reached the older Immortal.

“There is no Grail.” Methos said, for what felt like the hundredth time. He knew it was pointless, Joffre would not believe him but what else could he say?”

Joffre scoffed. “You have to say that, don’t you? I found the letter, Nicolas. I know the Grandmaster gave the Grail to you to hide it. Tell me where it is! It belongs to me! I died for it!”

Methos had no idea what letter Joffre was talking about but he seriously doubted the Grandmaster had written about the Grail since the damned thing didn’t exist! “DeMolay gave me the money and some documents, nothing more. And I keep them hidden as long as I deem fit, as I was instructed.” He explained calmly.

“You were one of us! How could you turn your back your brothers?” Joffre screamed.

He obviously hadn’t heard much of what Methos had just told him. How was following DeMolay’s orders betraying the other Templars? Aside from the fact that they were all long dead.

“I was a lot of things in my life. And the order is dead. Accept it.” Methos stated.

“Never!” Joffre screamed. He drew his sword and attacked.

Methos cursed under his breath. Fighting in the middle of the street in the middle of the day! Hopefully no one would see them. Aside from Murron, whom he could see watching through the window.

He forced her from his mind and focused on the fight. He stayed on the defensive until he had led Joffre to a more secluded area in a park close by. Then he went on the offensive. The clanging of their swords the only thing disrupting the silence of the early evening.

It was a hard battle. Joffre had spent the last seven hundred years doing exactly two things: searching for the Grail and improving his skills with the blade.

But so had Methos and for far longer than the younger Immortal. In front of others Methos liked to pretend to be a bit of a slouch but no one survived by being one for real. But in the end it came down to luck as much as anything. Joffre slipped on the grass and almost fell onto Methos’ blade.

“I only wanted to resort the order. Get my family back.” He choked out through the blood pouring from his mouth.

Methos nodded and pulled his sword out of Joffre’s chest. “I know.” He said and brought the sword down.

Watching Joffre’s head roll across the ground he braced himself for the inevitable agony of the Quickening.

Murron greeted him at the door with a tight hug. Exhausted he let her lead him inside.

“How are you doing?” she wanted to know.

Methos shrugged. “Same as always, it sucks but it will pass. What about you? How are you holding up?”

Murron sighed. “Weird. I never really talked to him when he was in the archive but he seemed nice enough. And then he turns out to be a lunatic. And I didn’t even notice.”

Shaking his head he took her into his arms. “Joffre was obsessed, that didn’t make him a monster, well, most of the time, but he had lost most of his perspective over time. And Immortals are always good at fitting in, pretending to be normal.”

“How did you two meet? In the Templar Order?” Murron asked. The historian in her was not to be denied.

“No, not in the order. Long after that. It was in…15…77 or 78 in Lyon. It hardly went better back then.”

France, Lyon, 1578 AD

Standing at the back of the room the young king was using to hold court during his stay in Lyon, Methos wished to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He didn’t even know why he was here. He was a doctor, sure, but the king had brought a dozen of them with him, so what did he need Methos for? The old Immortal did not like not knowing.

Things got even worse when he felt the presence of another Immortal claw its way up his back. Stepping farther back into the shadows, Methos kept an eye on the doors where more and more men, and a handful of women, entered.

A young, dark-haired man stopped at the door and looked around before finding Methos. He came over, hand on his sword. Methos had to leave his at home, but he carried two daggers hidden about his person. They would allow him to get away if things turned ugly, if nothing else.

“Joffre de Bézière.” The young man introduced himself.

“Nicolas.” Methos replied. He was not interested in making new acquaintances, he wanted to be gone from here but he could not leave without the king’s permission. And the blasted man wasn’t even here. Methos and several others had been waiting here for nearly half a day by now.

“Just Nicolas?” Joffre wanted to know with a superior smile.

“Just.” Methos nodded curtly.

Joffre smiled. “I’m not here for your head, friend. I have very important business with the king.”

“I’m sure you do.” Methos said and cocked his head towards the door next to the throne where a page had just arrived.

Joffre turned and looked at the young man with a hungry look. Methos had seen that look many times before, most often on Caspian, just before he started dismembering slaves for one reason or other, or none at all.

“His majesty is indisposed. You may leave and return in the morning to await our gracious king’s pleasure.” The man announced.

There was some grumbling among the crowd, but not loud enough to cause offence. Courtiers knew how to grumble just in the right tone so the guards and pages could ignore them.

Joffre looked furious but Methos really couldn’t care. He was just glad he could get out of here at least, even if he had to return again tomorrow.

Methos was walking back to his home when the other Immortal caught up with him.

“I’m surprised to find another of our kind at the illustrious court of King Henry.” Joffre stated. “The house of Valois is a curse on this land.”

Methos kept walking, he was not looking to make new enemies, but he didn’t want to have anything to do with Joffre, he was trouble, the old Immortal could tell. “I’m just a doctor awaiting the king’s pleasure.”

“Little prick that he is. Good think he’s the last one the old bitch squeezed out.” Joffre muttered.

“Not an admirer, I see.” Methos said. He kept looking around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. Spies were everywhere and kings took quick offence.

“They change their faith as if it were nothing.” Joffre hissed. “Sympathizing with those heretics, even marrying one of their own to them.”

“Yes, that worked out well.” Methos hid a grimace. Everyone in Europe heard of the night of Bartholomew, after the wedding of one of the sisters. There was a reason he tried to stay out of politics nowadays.

Joffre made a dismissing gesture. “It doesn’t matter. Soon they will be gone, all of them.” He paused for a moment. “You know, I could use your help with that.”

“I’m just a physician.” Methos pointed out.

“Exactly. And the king I always sick, everyone knows that. You can get access to the private chambers where I cannot.” Joffre said almost gleefully.

Methos finally looked at the other man. “And what was your plan before meeting me? Rushing the king when he came to the audience and stab him?”

Joffre shrugged unconcerned. “It would have worked.”

“At the price of your head. You’re aware that they like to do that to assassin here, don’t you?” Methos inquired.

“It would have been worth it.” Joffre hissed. “But I would have gotten out. I do have friends at court, at the edges at least. And it would be only the start. Once I find the Grail, I will resurrect the Templar Order and the true faith will reign supreme again in this Godforsaken land.”

Oh, a true believer, and a former Templar too. No wonder he wanted the king of France dead. Not that the current king had much of a relation to the late Phillip IV.

“Do what you must.” Methos told him. “But I will not help you. I like my life here. Oh, and there is no Grail. That’s a story some bards in need of money came up with on a rainy day.” With that he quickened his step and left a stunned looking Joffre behind.

As ordered, Methos was back at court the next morning. Another wasted day in all likelihood. King Henry was not exactly known as being very dutiful. He preferred to enjoy life in al it forms. And with such a mother, Methos wouldn’t want to be king either. Everyone knew that Catherine de Medici ruled the country in truth since her husband’s death. And she would not stop until death claimed her. For most that day couldn’t come soon enough.

Children’s laughter dew Methos from his musings. Two boys, both around six or seven, ran down the corridor leading to the current throne room, waving wooden sword at each other.

The king’s bastards. Their mothers had born them not a month apart and he king adored them. A pity they were bastards. So far Queen Louise of Loraine had not given birth to an heir. In fact she had not conceived once. No wonder as the king preferred his mistresses and _mignon_. Everyone knew about the pretty favorites, boys barely old enough to shave, but everyone pretended not to know about them.

Well, it was none of his business who warmed the king’s bed.

Behind the boys he saw Joffre approach before he could feel him. From afar the younger Immortal seemed harmless enough, but Methos did not trust it. He would prefer to never see him again.

When Joffre reached the playing boys, he drew a dagger and at first it looked like he wanted to play with them, but then he quickly and efficiently cut the children’s throats. A woman, most likely one of the mothers, screamed. Men shouted and Joffre laughed like the maniac he was. Killing these two boys made absolutely no sense, aside from causing the parents pain.

While Methos ran to the little bodies on the ground, knowing it was too late even before he reached them, Joffre killed a courtier trying to restrain him and them jumped out of the nearest window. Right into the river.

After a quick examination the only thing left to do was to try to console the mothers. Of Joffre there was no trace, of course. He had escaped, as planned.

Present Day

I don’t understand. Why did he kill those boys? What advantage did that give him?” Murron asked shocked. They sat in the kitchen, Methos trying to eat something.

“None.” He replied. “I think he had planned to kill the king that day but when he saw the boys he improvised.”

“Bastard. I’m glad he’s really dead now.” Murron muttered.

“Yeah, well, he got what he wanted in 1589, not by his hand but still. Not that he liked Henry IV. any better. An even worse heretic than the Valois.” Methos explained.

Murron shook her head. “Times like that, I’m glad I’m not all that religious.”

“Yes, frightening, isn’t it?” Methos agreed.

“Are you alright?” Murron asked suddenly concerned.

Methos nodded and forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine, just tired. I think I take a shower and then turn in.”

“Okay, but you should call Joe first, he’ll be worried.” Murron reminded him.

“Yes, of course.” Methos nodded and gave Murron a kiss as he stood up. His food nearly untouched. “Don’t work too long.”

Murron smiled. “I won’t, just a few documents then I’ll head to bed too.”

“You said the same thing the last time and then you worked till two in the morning.” Methos pointed out and left the room.

“That was one time.” Murron called after him with a smile. She loved her work, it was fascinating for sure. Who could blame her for forgetting the time now and then? He had done it himself often enough.

End


End file.
